The Hands of a Mahjarrat
by Kexy Kewl
Summary: Mahjarrat hands were not meant for gentle childrearing; they were meant for war and survival, for eking out a living from ash, for shielding eyes from the treacherous lightning, for dragging brethren to sacrifice and teaching the young ones the same. But if he were to bring up this child well, he was going to need not just Ali's human hands but Wahisietel's Mahjarrat ones as well.


So this is my very first RS fanfiction. This story is based upon the ideas of errandpointcape at Tumblr, who has an OC called Laelia, who is the half-Mahjarrat daughter of Sliske and is basically raised by Wahisietel since of course, Sliske can't give a damn. The baby in the story, as well as the idea for the Sliske-Wahisietel encounter when Sliske comes to drop off his child and what happens to the mother is again, errandpointcape s. Thank you very much for letting me go ahead with this. Please do check out her Tumblr, it's awesome. Also, my Tumblr is saiansha. tumblr . com, no spaces. Follow me for more fics and shenanigans :)

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Mahjarrat hands were not meant for art; they were meant for war and survival, for eking out a living from ash, for shielding eyes from the treacherous lightning, for dragging brethren to sacrifice. Yet that did not deter Ali the Wise of Nardah in the least, since, of course, his were the hands of a human, not a Mahjarrat.

It was easy to forget these days that he was a Mahjarrat by birth and only human by disguise, but tonight the pen in his human hands allowed him to fully remember and recall.

The pen was obsidian lined with gold. At the top of the pen sat a skull made of diamond with obsidian set in its eye sockets. The skull looked like that of a human, but there was something about it, perhaps the fierce expression, or the darkness of its sockets, that made it seem like that it was actually a replica of some other creature's skull.

Of course, were the pen its original size – a size big enough to fit Mahjarrat hands – there would be no doubt that indeed it was a Mahjarrat skull that it imitated.

All the Mahjarrat had had to learn to write; they had to "file reports", as Sliske would have put it. But Wahisietel had learned the skill willingly, enthusiastically, unlike most of his brethren. But he had not stopped there – he had learned to write various known languages of the Second Age, whether or not they were used in the Empire, he had learned to write those languages in the various forms and disguises he would take, and he had learned the art of calligraphy.

It was these skills that still kept Ali happy, even though he could no longer write words and names that Wahisietel used to, even though he could not wield Wahisietel's cherished pen till it was well into the night, even though he could not write _as_ Wahisietel himself.

Tonight, Ali wrote shining praises to the most well remembered and loved god of the Menaphite pantheon: _Icthlarin_.

Ali drank in the irony as eagerly as those who lapped up the cactus water after wandering around foolishly in the desert. The irony propelled him into composing each verse more beautiful than the last, and the beauty of each verse kept adding to the irony and so on in an endless circle.

A circle of ever mounting irony that would be straight up Sliske's alley.

 _Sliske…_

What was his brother up to these days? This past decade he had felt his brother's presence in the far west end of the desert far too often. It would stay there for long periods and then go to different places outside the desert each time before returning.

He was curious as to what game he was playing now, but as long as Sliske didn't cross the Elid, Wahisietel was not going to worry.

Ali moved on to another project now, slipping back into Wahisietel's territory as he penned down reports, statistics and inferences regarding the drought that had begun in Nardah. Wahisietel rejoiced in the logical and analytical nature of his work when he felt it.

That presence at the back of his mind, that tiny essence of his brother compartmentalised away in his brain ever since his brother's birth. It was moving to the east. That presence had never strayed south nor east, only north, of wherever it was based, but now it was looming closer.

Closer to the bridge across the Elid.

Closer to Nardah.

Closer to him.

And Ali, calligraphy and droughts were forgotten as Wahisietel briefly tapped into his mind to draw upon his power to cast a ward around himself from being snatched into the Shadow Realm by his brother.

He had more prowess than the average Mahjarrat in fighting in the Shadow Realm, thanks to Sliske, but he was never going to go up against the said brother if he could help it.

Wahisietel went up to his door and opened his eyes and seeing way further west than a human, saw a dark cloud materialise and promptly shape itself into a human looking figure. All he could do was wait for now and he went back inside and immersed himself again into his report.

It wasn't long before a low, slightly nasally voice drafted into his ears. "Brother," it said.

The very first thing that Wahisietel did after turning around to see his brother was to study his expression. Roughly once every century, Sliske would materialize with a bored expression on his face and Wahisietel would know that Sliske was after a casual conversation. Roughly one or two decades before the Ritual of Rejuvenation, Sliske would appear with a serious look on his face and Wahisietel would get the golden chance to join Sliske in his scheming and machinations.

Or a year or so after news finally trickled down to Nardah about some famous battle or wild discovery, Sliske would come bearing an amused expression and Wahisietel would join Sliske in wondering what the news would mean for factions, races and schools of thought.

But tonight, tonight Sliske was looking thoughtful, and it meant only one thing: he wanted advice or help.

"I have an interesting proposition for you." Sliske greeted.

"I assure you, I am clever enough to decide for myself whether a proposition is interesting or not." Wahisietel rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't be so stuffy. You are going to enjoy this."

"'This' being…?"

"An opportunity for research." Sliske answered, knowing that this would surely pique Wahisietel's interest.

It worked.

Wahisietel definitely felt interested, but he was smart – and skilled enough – to hide the gleam of excitement away. "I am currently researching Nardah's drought. What can you contribute to that?"

Sliske raised an eyebrow. "I understand that you feel you have to squirrel your deepest darkest desires from me, and even raise wards so that I cannot whisk you away into my Shadow Realm – which I wasn't even planning to, at least not today – but do you really feel you cannot trust me when I say that you really are going to enjoy a venture that is most certainly more meaningful than this sand hole's water problems?"

"It certainly does prolong your agony," Wahisietel smirked.

Sliske grinned. "And you are the only one who might not end up paying _too_ dearly for your little fun over the years. Now, back to business –"

"Admit it that you need my help, Sliske." Wahisietel interrupted.

Sliske narrowed his eyes and his jovial mood disappeared like the puff of shadow that he would conjure while teleporting. After a moment's pause, though, he did say, "Alright Wahizzle, I admit it, I need your help and it has nothing to do with your precious Nardah, but in fact, with something that you began in the Fourth Age."

"Don't call me _that._ " Wahisietel growled.

"What?" Sliske asked innocently.

He let it pass. "What do you mean, 'what I began in the Fourth Age'?"

"Why, your research on baby Mahjarrat born and brought up in Gielinor, of course."

Wahisietel waved his hand. "That was hardly research. I had no way to access Khazard. I had no theories, no facts and figures, Mah's sake, we still do not know who his father is or was! And really, we do not need research to see what a failure this useless oaf is. He has little, if any, thinking capacity and Mah alone knows what prompts him to use a sword like common infantry instead of developing some skill in using magicks like any self-respecting Mahjarrat should."

"Irrelevant," Sliske dismissed the topic away, while also noting that he simply had to bring up Khazard again one day when he did not have pressing concerns; it was entertaining to see his brother lose his scholarly dignity when it came to that toddler. "The fact still remains that our race is dying and we need more knowledge at the very least."

"When did the future of our race begin concerning you?" Wahisietel interjected.

Sliske laughed. "Oh, it never did, but I do like to be a good samaritan when it suits my purposes. Which brings me back to my point. Khazard may be a failure in your eyes, but he still is a success when you think about it in purely technical terms. Now, Palkeera and Enakhra may be dead, and other females of our race too as far as we know, so we really can't have a little one of our own to analyse the impact of Mother Mah's divinity and blessings on the birth and survival of our kind, but perhaps Lucien might have come up with another way."

"You speak of Moia."

"Indeed, and I am surprised you have heard of her."

"Give me some credit, brother."

"Oh, well, I suppose you are not entirely clueless."

"Thank you for your understanding. But from what I have read over the years about interspecies matings, which are hard enough to successfully accomplish as it is, the offsprings are usually sterile."

"Perhaps, but we have not yet gained much knowledge about Moia and her functioning."

Wahisietel silently looked at Sliske for a couple of moments. "So is this what you are getting at – kidnapping Moia and experimenting on her?"

"No, that will be needlessly time consuming. Feasible, but more effort than its worth. Plus, I do not figure her father and her uncle will be too thrilled with her falling into Zarosian hands, even if they do think she is useless."

"What are you suggesting then?" Wahisietel snapped. "That we create one of our own?"

"That is the only option we have if we want to continue your research." Sliske said quietly.

"Why do you think that I do want to continue this work?" Wahisietel frowned. "This is interesting, no doubt, but what makes you think I would want to devote my time to this?"

"You don't? Oh, well, I thought that the promise of knowledge was enough of a bait."

"Well, I'm not denying that, of course, Moia is fascinating and I've tried sending scouts and whatnot to learn more of her abilities. I am less concerned with her being a solution to our race's infertility but of course, it is interesting to see what magicks she uses and how she uses them, if she needs runes, what the forehead gem may do for her…"

Sliske watched with barely contained amusement as Wahisietel began rambling on about what he would love to study about half-Mahjarrat and how he would go about studying that and what experiments he would conduct and what theories he would formulate. His brother wasn't as easy a nut to crack as the rest of their kind, but he knew that the trick would be to let his brother excite himself up.

It was long before Wahisietel finally began showing signs of stopping, and Sliske was getting impatient – not because he didn't enjoy watching his brother giggle over anything that can be examined and researched, but because he didn't want anything amiss happening to his… _gift_ … before he presented it to Wahisietel.

"Well, anyhow, it is useless to speculate upon all this as I am never going to be able to get my hands on a half-Mahjarrat."

Sliske spoke carefully, "I might be able to help you there."

Wahisietel gaped. "You converted Moia into one of your wights?"

Sliske rolled his eyes. "Believe it or not, I don't go about converting half of Gielinor into my eternal slaves. No, I have something better. You can follow me, or we can travel more quickly through the Shadow Realm. Though you will have to drop your wards first."

Wahisietel shrugged and dropped the wards and they quickly materialised at Sliske's destination of choice. There was a bundle next to where they were standing. How odd, thought Wahisietel, that anything but sand should be here. But then the bundle twitched a bit and… _whimpered?_

Wahisietel looked up at Sliske in puzzlement and was surprised to see a positively delighted expression on his face.

"Go on," Sliske nudged.

Wahisietel bent down and picked up the bundle and almost dropped it when he saw that it was a human child. And he actually did drop it when he saw, through the warp of the Shadow Realm, the grayish colour and the jewels on the child's face.

"Isn't she pretty?" Sliske chuckled. "She may have my nose."

"She is… yours?" Wahisietel snapped.

"I knew you would _love_ to do some research, so I've done the legwork for you, brother. You need not thank me." Sliske grinned. "Oh and I would implore you to be careful with her. She is my daughter, after all, and I wouldn't be too happy to see any harm come to her."

Wahisietel was torn between asking Sliske why exactly had he accomplished this and yelling at him for leaving a newborn all alone in the Shadow Realm. He lifted the child awkwardly. It was crying now. He eventually settled upon, "Sliske, what tomfoolery is this?" "

Why, brother, I confess I am as curious as you to try out Lucien's experiment." The child had begun crying even more pitifully.

Wahisietel was about to ask a very interesting question when Sliske shot in, "Look what you've done now. My daughter is crying. Make it stop."

" _You_ make it stop. She's _your_ daughter, not mine." Wahisietel growled.

"You're the expert on humans here. I don't know how to deal with them for centuries on end, let alone bring one up."

"You've 'dealt' with your wights for millennia now."

"Are you actually suggesting I hand her over to the brothers?"

Wahisietel swore colourfully in Frenseskean. Whether it was the emotion behind his curse, or the harshness of the language, or the fact that his frustration was making him dig his fingers a bit too harshly into the soft skin of the baby, it started positively howling in anguish. "Hand her over to the mother then!"

"Can't!" Sliske replied cheerfully.

Wahisietel did not miss a beat. "How did she die?"

"Humans are so fragile, brother. She couldn't bear the stress."

"The stress of _what,_ Sliske?" Wahisietel spat.

"The stress of finding out about her child's parentage."

"Do you mean to say that you never told her that you are a Mahjarrat?"

"She wouldn't have invited me into her bed, would she, had I done that? I had to woo her and make her fall in love with me."

"No, you didn't _have_ to do anything. And certainly not partake in such base deception."

"Would you rather I act like that thug Lucien or that witless wonder Zemouregal who would make a move on anything that is female? Would you not call _that_ base?" Sliske growled. "I gave her the ten best years of her life. I consider us even."

The baby was flailing now. It did not take an expert on humans to understand that the baby obviously needed food, warmth and quiet.

"So that is why you have been hanging around the desert for all these years."

"Indeed." Sliske replied. "And now I must take your leave. I fear I'm distracting you from your duties."

"No, Sliske." Wahisietel said gravely. "This is your child. That woman did not deserve to be lied to and be killed. Consider this child your punishment."

The baby had started turning pale, and it had begun quietening down. Wahisietel feared that this change was not for the good. With one hand he removed his scarf and wrapped it around her. He started rummaging in his pockets and was thankful to find a waterskin there. He tipped it into the baby's mouth, hoping it would keep her going till he had given her father a piece of his mind.

"Wahisietel, I cannot care for this child as I simply do not know how, and even if I did, I am simply not interested in caring for one. You have studied humans and lived their lives, you know what goes into taking care of a human and taking care of a child in general. I care for her only to find out more about her powers. And in that respect, I am not much different from you since just a few minutes ago you were confessing all the research you would want to do on a half-Mahjarrat. The choice is yours, brother. Bring up a child and research her along the way, or abandon her."

Wahisietel kept glancing back and forth quickly from the child to the father. "Sliske, please."

Sliske smiled. "Oh, come on now, brother. I know you do not have the heart to abandon a helpless child in the Shadow Realm. A helpless half-human child who will certainly die excruciatingly if it were not cared for."

"What kind of a father leaves his newborn daughter in the Shadow Realm hours after she is born anyway?" Wahisietel roared.

"Bye-bye, Uncle Wahizzle!" Sliske cackled and teleported away, leaving Ali back in the normal plane, in the desert, with the first rays of sunlight showing up in the east.

The child had quietened down now and was looking almost serenely back at him. It was almost as if it were her father and the realm that he called himself the Lord of that disquieted her so severely.

Ali began walking back to Nardah. There was nothing else he could do. He was unhappy that Sliske had taken advantage of his softer side, but that was nothing new. What he truly regretted and felt ashamed about was that he had let Sliske so conveniently exploit his thirst of knowledge. Sliske had turned Wahisietel's greatest advantage into his own, and left him feeling confused and helpless, just like the child in his arms.

He would have to come up with a story of how his brother, a man on a desperate mission, had stolen into Nardah in the middle of the night and had left his daughter under her uncle's care till the time he came back.

Uncle.

He was an uncle now, he supposed.

Uncle Ali.

It had an odd ring to it, but it certainly sounded better than Uncle Wahisietel. It sounded almost as interesting as Ali the Wise.

He looked at the infant. "My name is Ali," he said, "But what is yours? Damn you Sliske. A parent should at least name their child!"

He tried clearing away the books from one side of his bed with one arm when he reached back home, but failed. He placed the baby on a worn away rug on the floor, the most comfortable spot he could find that was not as dusty or as cluttered as the rest of his home, and quickly returned with some milk he kept for when guests came to visit him.

Ali fed the baby some milk from a spoon the best he could. The baby finally fell into a healthy slumber and Ali took the time to study her. Later, there would crop up a lot of questions like what does the baby need to eat, how should the baby handle magic, what all should he teach the baby. But for now, he had only one question on his mind.

"What should we name you?"

Mahjarrat hands were not meant for gentle childrearing; they were meant for war and survival, for eking out a living from ash, for shielding eyes from the treacherous lightning, for dragging brethren to sacrifice and teaching the young ones the same. And though he had Ali's hands, hands more suited to bringing up and loving a child, for the first time in years, he realized that he would not just need Ali's hands; he was going to need Wahisietel's as well.


End file.
